


Don't Tell Me I'm Insecure (I Already Know That)

by rixsig-writes (rixsig)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Possessiveness, To be Yoosung is constant suffering, Zen is very charming and unfortunately everyone digs it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rixsig/pseuds/rixsig-writes
Summary: Sometimes it seems like the whole world wants to hop on Zen’s dick, but unfortunately for them Yoosung got there first.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i can't handle looking at this any longer than i already have so have it. i apologize in advance if something slipped by me orz
> 
> blame this on @ploppypeach as usual

Zen’s famous. Obvious, right? He gets fanmail, he’s on billboards, youtube videos of him get hundreds of thousands of views, and twitter explodes all over itself whenever Seven’s fangirl-bot posts a new selfie. Yoosung’s known this for ages. Even back before Zen hit big-time he’s always had a very dedicated fanbase, Jaehee included. 

But none of that ever affected Yoosung personally until now. In the chatrooms Zen was just too much of a normal—if abnormally self-obsessed—guy for the whole actor thing to really strike a chord. Back when they were just friends none of that mattered, back when Yoosung started getting a crush he never thought about it, and back when Yoosung started getting feelings for him he figured it was impossible anyway. But now that they’re together?

All this fan admiration. Is becoming. A problem. 

Yoosung will leave for five minutes to return his mom’s phone call and return to find a gaggle of high-schoolers hovering around Zen, giggling. He’ll duck back into a restaurant to get the coat he forgot, and when he comes back out a fan is begging Zen to sign his bicep. Even people who don’t know who the man is can’t help but stare slack-jawed. Yoosung is beset on all sides by googly-eyed people drooling over his boyfriend and it makes something dark and twisty slither around his stomach and climb up his throat in a constant feeling of unrest. He hates it.

He knows it’s dumb. It’s not like Zen is ever anything but kindly professional to his fans and admirers, but sometimes Yoosung will lie in bed after a long day, staring at the ceiling, fantasizing about yanking Zen down and shoving his tongue in his mouth in front of everyone. He wants to mess up his perfect hair, make that pale, pale skin flush red and those eyes go hot and molten just to show off to these people that Zen isn’t untouchable, he just isn’t theirs to touch. Every time a fan gets too close or looks at Zen with a little too much appreciation Yoosung wants to cut in between them and shove them off. He holds himself back of course, but he knows the look on his face can’t be nice because of the way those people look at him afterwards. A bit of shock, a tinge of dismay; they never expect it from him because he’s cute. Yoosung can usually dredge up a smile from somewhere to cover it up; it’s not like he wants to cause Zen any problems, and he doesn’t like to think of himself as  _ mean _ but…

But now he’s frozen outside the coffeeshop with a to-go cup in each hand watching some woman put her hand on Zen’s chest, and he feels his very last nerve snap.

“Zen!” He calls, tone wobbling just a bit, “Here you go.”

He slides in between the two and gives Zen his coffee, not paying the woman any attention. He can’t look at her right now, he’s too keyed up. If he does he’s going to make an awful face, he just knows it. Zen accepts the cup, intentionally letting their fingers brush, lingering, a half-smile quirking his lips. 

“Yoosung,” He says, voice warm, “Thank you.” He gestures to the woman. “This lady here is an artist. She was explaining her work just now.”

“Like I was saying,” The woman gushes, “Your body’s musculature is just perfect! I-if you ever have the time I’d really like you to consider posing for us—”

“I’d hate to rob the arts of my god-given gifts but it’s getting hard to manage my time these days,” Zen declines graciously, laughing.

There’s some more back and forth but Yoosung doesn’t quite catch it because he’s finally turned to face the woman and he feels like his brain is trapped in a wind-tunnel. She’s cute, fashionable, sparkling with enthusiasm, and she keeps edging closer and closer to Zen like a moth drawn to a porchlight. The bitter, sour feeling is clawing into Yoosung’s gut.

“—I’ve been making do with photographs, but a live model is always better, don’t you think? In person like this it’s even more clear how flawless your bone structure is.” 

The woman reaches out towards Zen’s jaw, and that’s it. Yoosung’s done. He latches onto Zen’s elbow and pulls just enough that her hand misses by an inch. She stops mid-motion, confused. 

“Zennnnnnnnn,” Yoosung draws out, tugging Zen closer to himself, “We should really get going.”

“Hm?” Zen blinks, “Is there something you want to do?”

_ Drag you away and get your hands all over me, _ Yoosung thinks. 

“Um…” This is one of those situations where Yoosung wishes he was quicker on his feet. He’s not very good at thinking of excuses. His mind is blank. He doesn’t know what else to do so he just looks up at Zen pleadingly. 

“Ah right,” Zen says as if remembering something. Which is impossible because there’s nothing for him to have remembered, “I forgot all about that. We wouldn’t want to be late.” He winks at Yoosung before turning to the woman. “Sorry, but I’ll have to cut this conversation short.”

The woman has been staring at their closeness, curious, but she shakes herself out of it, “Oh no! I apologize for keeping you. Here, if you ever change your mind or find that you have the time to spare, please let me know. I’d be very grateful.” She hands Zen a business card and then leaves.

Nettled, Yoosung picks a direction at random and starts walking, arm-in-arm with Zen. Zen follows his lead without protest, slipping the card into his coat pocket.

“Where are you taking me?” Zen asks, amused. He tosses his empty coffee cup in a passing trashcan. Yoosung’s is still full. He’d forgotten he was even holding it. He ventures a sip to avoid the question. He has no idea where he’s going; he just wants to get out of here.

They pass a girl and her friend walking in the opposite direction, but the girl stops in her tracks the moment she spots Zen, reaching out and tugging on her friend’s sleeve until she’s forced to stop too. She points excitedly, starstruck. When the friend sees who she’s pointing at she squeals, “Zen!!! Oh my god, it’s really him. It’s him, oh my god, look, he’s so  _ hot _ !!!” 

Yoosung tightens his hold on Zen’s arm and moves even closer into his side, feeling venomous, and he’s completely unable to stop himself from shooting a glare behind him. The friend falters but the other girl puts her hands to her mouth and yells, “Zen!!! I loved you as Jisoo!!!”

“Thanks for your support!” Zen replies, pausing for a second to look behind him and wave. The girls put their hands to their faces, overwhelmed. Yoosung can practically see the hearts radiating off of them. 

Yoosung, seized by impulse, lets go of Zen’s arm and puts his arm around Zen’s waist instead, snuggling up as close as possible. He can’t help but throw a sly look at the girls as he does. He gains immense satisfaction from the way their mouths fall open at the display.

_ Yeah, _ he thinks at them,  _ Look at us.  _

Zen smoothly accommodates the change in positioning by putting his arm around Yoosung’s back, and they both resume walking together. It’s...a little weird how Zen’s taking all of this in stride so easily. Yoosung sneaks a peek at his face. Zen’s cheeks are brushed with a red that makes him look like he’s glowing, not even trying to hide his happiness. Yoosung swears if he listens hard enough he can hear him whistle faintly. 

_ No way...he’s enjoying this _ , Yoosung realizes. He didn’t think Zen would be mad, per se, but to look so thrilled? It makes him a little dizzy to think about. It makes that bitter feeling inside him burn hot. Yoosung’s fingers grip hard onto Zen’s side. If he were brave enough he’d drag Zen into an alley somewhere and get on his knees but...

He glances up at Zen again only to get drawn in by his mouth. Yoosung licks his lips subconsciously and Zen’s gaze flickers to him, drawn by the movement. Yoosung’s hopelessly turned on now and he knows he looks it. It’s not like he’s expecting anything, but what he wouldn’t give for the chance to at least— 

“I don’t know how you expect me to stand here and do nothing when you’re looking at me like that,” Zen says breathlessly.

Zen stops them again and takes Yoosung’s face in his hands, leaning in until he can rest his forehead against his. Yoosung’s cheeks go up in flames and Zen’s hands are the only thing preventing him from bashfully turning away. They’re in the middle of the sidewalk—Yoosung can hear people passing by—but Zen doesn’t seem to care. He’s so free with his affection sometimes that Yoosung feels like he’ll drown in it, an overwhelming feeling that carousels him around in endless love and desire and embarrassment. Yoosung feels like he’s going to die, but even so he still wants to kiss him.

“Why are you so happy?” Yoosung asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Zen tilts his head as if he’s going to press their lips together and Yoosung’s heart thuds hard in his chest. They shouldn’t. Not here, not here, but— “Do you not know how tightly you have me wrapped around your fingers?” Zen murmurs wonderingly, “You don’t think you’re the only one who gets jealous, do you?”

“You should be mad at me.” 

“I’m not mad at you.” Zen says with laughter in his throat, “I know you’d never treat my fans badly.”

“Be mad anyway.” Yoosung demands, voice edging into a whisper. He’s transfixed, watching Zen’s pupils widen from so close up. He wants to dig his nails in and never let go.

Honestly at this point Yoosung would make out with Zen in front of the whole goddamn world, he doesn’t care anymore, but this is the moment that Zen finally chooses to acknowledge the inappropriateness of the setting. He pulls back, dropping one hand from Yoosung’s face and trailing the other down to Yoosung’s shoulder. He turns Yoosung around and pushes him gently into a walk, walking beside him, his hand readjusting to a firm hold on the back of Yoosung’s neck. Being guided this way sends pleasurable shivers down Yoosung’s spine. He knows people are looking at them funny but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s as distant to him as another universe. All he feels is the low burn in his stomach, the growing fuzziness of the rest of his body, that anchoring hand, and the thumb drawing a comforting line back and forth over the muscle in his neck. 

Half-hypnotized as he is the walk back to Zen’s apartment seems to go by in a blur. He has the unimportant impression of street, street, street, going down some stairs, and suddenly he’s there and Zen’s hand is lifting off his neck. Yoosung blinks a couple of times and reorients himself, watching as Zen closes the front door and locks it. 

“How many articles do you think we’re going to see online about us tomorrow?” Zen asks, amused.

“I don’t know. A lot, probably?” Yoosung says as he kicks his shoes off and contemplates his options, eyes fixed on Zen. He wants to do so many things he’s having a hard time settling on only one.

“If they ask I’ll just say you had a fever and I had to check,” Zen grins, turning from the door and herding Yoosung towards the bed. 

“What if they don’t?”

“Then they’ll say whatever they want to. They always have,” Zen shucks his coat and hangs it on a nearby chair, “But you don’t mind that very much, right?”

Not if it means that even more people will know that Zen is off-limits. It’s still embarrassing to think about, but the greater part of Yoosung is soaking in the satisfaction. 

“Why does everyone else always want to get their hands all over you,” Yoosung grumbles, reaching his own hand out and touching Zen’s face like he’d prevented that one woman from doing earlier, “It’s not fair. Doesn’t it get on your nerves?”

Zen lays a hand on top of Yoosung’s and leans his face into it, “Mmmm, not really. It used to when I was younger though.”

“What do you mean?” Yoosung asks.

“People would always want to pinch my cheeks and play with my hair and give me candy and crowd around me. I never understood why then but I got used to it.” 

“What, really?!” A surge of something vicious hits Yoosung hard but he tries to swallow it down. “S-since you were a kid?” Even handling a fraction of this attention at a young age sounds impossible. His younger self would probably have been jealous though…

“Mm-mm,” Zen smiles, “Guess I was this handsome from the moment I was born. People couldn’t help being drawn to me.”

Yoosung rolls his eyes and snatches Zen’s phone from his pocket with his free hand before Zen can get the idea to grab it himself. 

“Hey!” Zen yelps.

“Nuh-uh,” Yoosung sticks his tongue out, “This is mine for the rest of the day.” He retrieves his other hand from Zen’s face and unlocks Zen’s phone, going into the photo albums. It’s at least 90% Zen selfies. Zen in the mirror, Zen at the gym, Zen reading a script....Same as the last time he looked at Zen’s phone. Yoosung sighs. He contemplates just confiscating it and hiding it somewhere for the rest of the night but…

“I was going to use that!” Zen tries to snag it back but Yoosung turns his back to him and fends off the reaching arms with his elbows. 

Zen retaliates by wrapping his arms around Yoosung’s waist and lifting up until Yoosung’s legs are kicking in the air. “Woah, woah!” Yoosung laughs, “Put me down! I’m not giving you your phone back!”

Zen says nothing and just falls backwards until they both land on the bed with an oomph, bouncing once. Zen flops them over on their side and rolls Yoosung towards him until they’re facing each other. Yoosung guards the phone close to his chest when Zen tries to wrest it from him again, making Zen laugh, and it’s irritating how struck Yoosung is by it, by how beautiful this man is. Especially like this.

He takes a picture.

“Wha…?” Zen says, disoriented, “Why—?”

He takes another. 

He was going to hide the phone for the rest of the night, but you know what? This is so much better.

Yoosung pushes Zen until he’s lying on his back and Yoosung straddles him, pushing Zen’s shirt up and taking another picture. Zen stays there, eyes wide and face flushed, speechless. “If you want pictures that badly let me take them, okay?” 

Yoosung can feel his own face burning but he pulls Zen’s turtleneck collar down to lick at the hollow of his throat anyway. Zen’s throat bobs. Yoosung takes a picture: of that mouth parted open, the hard line of that jaw, that revealed slice of neck. 

“I thought you wanted me to be mad at you.” Zen struggles to say.

“You can do that for me later.” 

When Yoosung pulls the shirt up higher Zen obligingly lifts his torso so Yoosung can slip it off all the way. While he’s at it he pulls at Zen’s hair-tie and slides it down, pulling it toward him until the ponytail comes undone. The freed hair falls naturally over Zen’s shoulder as if an artist placed it that way. Yoosung takes another picture. This one comes out particularly well. Zen’s looking a little above the camera, wondering and unsure, bare from the waist up. He looks vulnerable. 

“I can compliment you too, if you want.” Yoosung suggests, fiddling with the edge of the phone, trying to keep his possessiveness in check. 

“You don’t have to,” Zen laughs shakily, “I already know.” Or so he says, but the craving in his eyes is unmistakable. Besides, he doesn’t know. Not really. Yoosung shows him the screen.

“Sometimes when I can surprise you this is how you look at me,” Yoosung says lowly, watching Zen as he absorbs the image, “Have you ever seen yourself look like this before in the mirror?”

Zen shakes his head slightly, eyes never leaving the phone. “No.”

“You’ll give anyone a perfect smile, but I’m the only other one who’s ever seen this, right?” Yoosung pushes Zen back down on the bed, forcing Zen’s attention back on him. He leans forward and kisses up Zen’s chest, sparing a moment to drag his tongue over one of Zen’s nipples on his way up to his neck. Yoosung smiles against his skin when he feels Zen’s chest expand in a quick breath. 

“Yoosung…”

Yoosung slides up a little until he can reach Zen’s ear. He sucks the lobe into his mouth, drags his teeth over it, and lets it go. He makes sure his mouth is still right by Zen’s ear when he whispers, “I know you’re beautiful all the time, but you’re so beautiful it hurts when you’re in love with me.”

Zen groans, drawn out and low, and next thing he knows one of Zen’s hands is in his hair pulling him up, the other angling his jaw into a long, deep kiss. Yoosung melts into it and allows Zen to roll them over until Zen’s lying on top of him. When Zen pulls back Yoosung can see those lips shiny with spit and the dusting of red on his cheekbones. He takes another picture.

“Hey!”

“What,” Yoosung feigns innocence. “You wanted pictures, right?”

Zen mock-growls and pins Yoosung’s wrists to the bed. With Zen’s weight on him like this and his arms held down Yoosung can’t move at all. “Can I be mad at you now?” Zen murmurs.

Yoosung’s breath hitches. “Yeah.”

Zen tightens his grip on Yoosung’s wrists and ducks down, nipping punishingly at Yoosung’s collarbone. “You little brat,” He chuckles fondly, “Toying with me since we got here and you still have all your clothes on.” Zen moves higher and bites into Yoosung’s neck. Yoosung gasps and the phone falls from his hand to the bed. “You’re going to listen to me now, won’t you? I know you can be good.”

Yoosung nods his head drunkenly. “Yes, yes, I can, I will.”

Zen keeps the hand closest to the phone pinned but lets go of Yoosung’s other wrist and uses that hand to unbutton the top button of Yoosung’s shirt one-handed. The muscles in Zen’s shoulder move as he turns his attentions to the next button down, and Yoosung wants to touch. He’s not sure if he’s allowed; Zen didn’t say but...Yoosung reaches up and touches the swell of Zen’s bicep and pushes his fingers up across his shoulder and down to his clavicle. He really is a work of art. His heart squeezes painfully. That woman wasn’t wrong to want to draw him. Yoosung would if he could.

Zen stops working on the fourth button and watches him. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” He commands, tone gentle.

“I shouldn’t be so mad at them.” Yoosung says guiltily.

“At who?” 

Yoosung doesn’t say anything. He shouldn’t talk about this. He shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s stupid, it’s dumb, it’s breaking the atmosphere, it’s not even a real  _ problem _ it’s just him being—He should have just shaken it off and kept going, he—

“Yoosung. Tell me.” 

Yoosung shakes his head.

“Tell me.” Zen insists.

The dam breaks.

“All of them.” Yoosung holds onto Zen’s shoulder, hard, leaking his feelings in a sharp, staccato voice, “I’m angry at all of them. Is...is jealousy really supposed to feel like this? I-I’ll be so happy and then someone will come over and try to touch you and everything in me freezes and boils over at the same time.” Yoosung’s talking so fast that he needs to stop for a moment and catch his breath before he continues on. “Everything’s been so good, I’m so happy, so why can’t I just appreciate it? But every time I’m there and you’re not looking at me I can’t help thinking about the worst things I—” Yoosung’s voice grows thick and his eyes prickle. 

Zen listens in shock. Yoosung wants to explain himself better but he doesn’t know how. He wants to go back in time and make it so that this conversation never happens but he doesn’t know how to do that either. Yoosung swallows and searches for more words.

“I’ve...I’ve never been here before. I’m so scared of losing this. What am I supposed to do?” Yoosung’s voice cracks and he’s so ashamed he wants to turn away, but he wants an answer even more than his dignity so he stares up at Zen through watery eyes. 

“Yoosung,” Zen says fervidly, stroking Yoosung’s cheek with his thumb. Yoosung lies there and feels it distantly, teetering on the edge of something dark. 

“You know, don’t you? What am I supposed to feel? What’s normal?” Yoosung pleads, choked up, “What do I do?  _ Tell me. _ ”

Zen grabs his chin, urgent. “Yoosung, I would never leave you for any one of them, never.”

“I know!” Yoosung cries hoarsely, “I know, so why do I still feel like this?!”

Zen stares at him, looking like his heart is going to break. Yoosung hates himself. 

“Why,” Zen says. His hand trembles on Yoosung’s chin, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I want you as much as you want me? I’ll try to convince you forever if I have to.”

“Zen—”

“I think about you all the time, everyday,” Zen continues, “When I’m at the gym, when I’m reading lines, when I’m riding my motorcycle trying not to think of anything at all. When I’m eating something I wonder if you like it or if you’ve ever tried cooking it before. I think about you at home, outside, in your classes...I’m so jealous of all your college friends it drives me crazy sometimes.”

“W-what?” Yoosung laughs, tears slipping out of his eyes, “Really? My friends?”

“Really,” Zen confirms with a rueful smile, “You underestimate yourself so much.” Zen lets Yoosung’s chin go and peppers kisses on Yoosung’s face instead, over and over and over again until Yoosung can’t help but giggle despite himself. “Stop acting like you’re in this alone. I’m right here with you. You can tell me anything. I want to know everything.”

Yoosung sniffs and wipes his eyes. He works up his courage. “I...I love that you have so many fans that support you, but I hate,  _ I hate, _ when they take your attention away from me. I hate when you leave. Sometimes I want to lock you up and never let you go.”

“I know how that feels,” Zen says gently. Even after hearing that he looks at Yoosung like he’s the beautiful one, his heart in his eyes. 

Yoosung strains up and pulls Zen down, kisses him thoroughly, breaks apart for a quick breath, then dives in again. When he draws back he does it achingly slowly, savoring the cling of their lips as they pull apart. Zen looks dazed.

“How could you expect me to lie here and do nothing when you’re looking at me like that?” Yoosung whispers with a smile. 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Zen says.

“Touch me.”

Zen slides a hand under the v of Yoosung’s half-undone shirt and rolls his nipple hard between his fingers, bending his back and lowering his head to suck and bite at the other through the shirt material. Yoosung arches his back, gasping. Zen digs his nails in and Yoosung moans. 

Zen hauls him up with one arm and rips Yoosung’s shirt over his head with the other, having no more patience to deal with the rest of the buttons, then goes back in to suck a mark into Yoosung’s shoulder, going over it with his tongue after he’s satisfied. Zen pulls back with a red, red mouth and Yoosung puts his arms around Zen’s neck so he can lick into it and savor the wet slide. 

Zen moves away and down out from under his arms and Yoosung’s confused at first until he hears the zip of Zen undoing Yoosung’s pants and feels them being tugged down his hips. Zen’s red, red mouth wastes no time getting itself around him and Yoosung cries out loudly. He tries to spread his legs wider, but he’s thwarted by the pants still around his thighs. Yoosung whines in frustration. Zen just chuckles around him and takes him in deeper, working his throat in a way that drives thought from Yoosung’s mind entirely.

Zen is very thorough, making sure to lavish attention on every spot that makes Yoosung shake. Halfway through he works slick fingers into him, pumping in and out in a steady rhythm. Yoosung rambles broken praises not even knowing if they make sense when they come out of his mouth, but Zen drinks them in with a pleased hum, rolling his own hips into the mattress. 

Yoosung’s hand bumps into Zen’s phone, and he doesn’t think too hard about picking it up. He wants this. He wants this image forever: Zen’s mouth around his cock and his hair strewn haphazardly everywhere, getting off to giving Yoosung pleasure. He takes a picture and in the next couple of breaths he cums. Zen milks him out until he’s spent and then he takes his fingers out to wrap them around his own cock. It doesn’t take long for him to go over the edge. 

Zen crawls back up and collapses next to Yoosung, gathering him up in his arms. Yoosung cuddles in closer, and his mouth latches onto Zen’s shoulder.

“Giving me a matching one?” Zen huffs, amused. 

Yoosung hums an affirmation and sucks harder on the skin, biting into it a couple times for good measure just because he feels like it. When he’s done, the skin is satisfyingly dark. Yoosung, pleased, settles back down, eyes almost closing. They burst back open when he hears the camera shutter sound. 

“I can’t believe you took a picture of me giving you a blowjob,” Zen laughs, “But I can’t say I blame you.”

“Did you just take a picture of  _ me? _ ” Yoosung asks, bewildered.

“Mm-hmm,” Zen says, “I just realized I don’t have very many of you. And none of you like this.” He runs a hand through Yoosung’s sweaty bangs. 

When Yoosung casts his eyes away, blushing, they land on Zen’s coat hanging on the chair. Zen notices him staring at it and he props himself up on one elbow to look at him. 

“What?” Zen asks.

“That girl gave you her business card.” Yoosung muses, “Are you going to do the art modeling thing sometime?”

“Do you not want me to?”

Yoosung thinks for a minute. “No, it’s fine.” He decides, dropping a kiss onto the hickey he left, “Just as long as you come back here and fuck me afterwards.”

Zen grins, stroking Yoosung’s bare back. “I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> throw zensung prompts at me on twitter @rixsig_writes or throw 'em in the comments


End file.
